Wednesday...

is hump day.

Is anyone familiar with that expression or is it a Canadian thing?

It's a BEAUTIFUL day in Oxford and I'm in a very pleasant mood. Had a long chat last night with Nate, my Washingtonian friend who is coming to visit in August. That's HOT.

Currently listening to: Talisman by Air. Wicked band. French you know...

Currently wearing: jeans, shirt, tie and flip-flops. Hot.

Evil Bosslady wasn't joking when she said she wanted me to take on more responsibility. Disaster! I've also been put on some high-achievers fast-track management course. It's supposed to catapult me into a senior management position in the blink (well, many blinks as it takes about 3 years) of an eye. The only problem is that I'll have to work quite closely with some quite odious people and I'm convinced the other people on the scheme will be retards. I probably shouldn't use words like 'retard' now I'm a responsible grown-up person. But fuck that.

Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard.

So there.

Now listening to: All I Need by Air. French, you know...

Still wearing: jeans, shirt, tie and flip-flops.

Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!!!

Em is lost. Presumed missing in Selfridges. Damn.

Last night, I consumed an alarming quantity of cocktails. The Perfect Manhattan is a thing of beauty.

Anyway, back to me...

I'm amazed that this Blogging phenomena has grown so quickly. Admittedly, most of them on here aren't as good as this one but still...

It's all very well having a job and doing a bit of academic stuff on the side but I miss the mental stimulus of being a student. I've been looking at doing an evening/weekend diploma course through the Department of Continuing Education http://www.conted.ox.ac.uk/

I'm thinking either the History of Art or Latin. My great fear is that it'll be full of middle-aged housewives and no one with whom to have a giggle at the back of the class. I'm not saying middle-agged housewives aren't fun but I keep having flashbacks of The Graduate. SCARY.

Currently listening to 99 Luftballons by Nena.

The moron who helps out in the office (filing, stapling, photocopying) though my ipod was a dictaphone. She's a large lady and laughs at everything. I mean EVERYTHING. At first I thought it was a nervous laugh as she didn't know me very well, but no. She's just a freak. Nice but dim.

Invite to the Summer Garden Party landed on my desk today:

"The Vice-Chancellor and Registrar request the pleasure of your company at the Garden Party in Somerville College (by kind permission of The Principal and Fellows) on Friday, 24th June 5.00-6.30pm."

Last years was good fun. The crowd was very definitely split into the 'haves' and the 'have-nots'. Or should that be Chavs and the Chav-nots?
The academics and senior members of the University (many of whom are graduates of Oxford) on one side of the garden and the clerical, library, secretarial, parks, gardens and ancilliary (most of whom are Oxford born and bred chavs) staff on the other side. It was interesting to see but sad too. Despite years of working together and the University being such an enormous part of the city, the distinction of 'us' and 'them' still exists. It's very Upstairs Downstairs.

It was quite amusing to see the Chav-nots sipping Pimms and discussing the latest gossip in small groups whilst nervously looking at their watches as they had to collect little Jemima and Hugo from school or go home to relieve the nanny whilst the Chavs were loud and boisterous and called across one side of the garden to the other, knocking back glasses of Cava and shovelling canapes down their gullets (very clearly on a mission to make the most of the free booze and drink). The Chavs also had a distorted idea of correct garden party attire. They appeared to think that garden parties are held in nightclubs.

I've taken up rowing again. I used to row in Cambridge but gave it up in favour of cycling as it got me out of Cambridge. When I moved to Oxford I joined a gym, but it's just not the same as being in a boat early in the morning or on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

Think I might head up to Edinburgh for the Festival in August. Anyone else going?

Now listening to Bermuda Highway by My Morning Jacket. Beautiful song. Get the album.

I'm off to lunch...